


Cherry Lane

by withoutaplease



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-10-12 16:57:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20567759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withoutaplease/pseuds/withoutaplease
Summary: Drabble request from tumblr user @speedmetalqueen:Maybe something with the reader sneaking into his room, I always read stories of billy visiting the reader unexpected. But never the other way aroundWarnings: fluff and smut





	Cherry Lane

A gust of bitter wind picked up at your back, tossing swirls of yellow leaves up from the gutters, but you didn’t feel the cold. You weren’t feeling too much of anything, in fact, except the warm, confident momentum of a bourbon buzz. The possibility of making curfew disappeared around the time your friend Jenny pulled the bottle out of her purse at the playground, and the bunch of you sat on the swingset getting loaded. It was a decent Friday night until the cop car pulled up with its cherries lit, forcing you to scatter. Seeing him pull away in the opposite direction, you left your friends to their fates. You strode briskly down the middle of the pitch-black street, listening to the echo of your boots on the pavement, headed for home.

Most of the houses were dark as you neared your family’s bungalow on Cherry Lane, which made the lamplight coming from Billy Hargrove’s bedroom window all the more conspicuous. You slowed, considering. Since he moved onto your block last year, you’d found him to be two things: always up for a tumble, and always an arrogant prick about it. On the other hand, if you kept walking, all that was waiting at home was a locked front door and a lecture. Bit of a no-brainer, really. 

You stepped into the shadow of some shrubbery and crept up to the window. It was halfway open to the night air, and you held still for a few seconds, listening. You heard nothing. “Billy!” you whisper-yelled, with no response. “Billy!” you tried again, a little louder. Still, nothing. You picked up a pebble and tossed it through the window, then cringed as you heard the soft crash of something falling over inside.

“What the fuck?” you heard him say, and after a few seconds of shuffling, he appeared in the window, shirtless and disheveled. “Who’s out there?” he demanded, opening the window the rest of the way and glaring out.

“Just me,” you said softly, raising your hands. 

“Y/N? What the hell are you doing here?”

“I saw your light on,” you explained. 

“So you thought you’d come over and break my shit?”

“No,” you objected, “that was an accident.” Another gust of wind kicked up, and a fat, icy raindrop landed on your nose. “You gonna let me in?”

He looked around outside, then turned and checked the lock on his bedroom door. Satisfied, he cleared some junk off the floor in front of the window, and reached out to take your hand. You swung a foot up onto the sill and let him pull you inside, stumbling a bit on the landing. “You’re drunk,” he observed, steadying you on your feet. 

“Little bit,” you agreed. “Were you sleeping?”

“Not exactly,” he grumbled. You turned and took a better look at him, and noticed for the first time that his jeans were hanging open. They must have slid down in the struggle, because you had a clear view of the nothing he was wearing underneath them. You looked away quickly, embarrassed. “What?” he hissed.

“Why is your dick out??” you whispered frantically.

“Fuck,” he muttered, and turned around to fix himself. You peeked back in time to see him sweeping a copy of _Hustler_ off the side of his bed. He turned to face you. “Now is there something I can help you with?” he asked irritably as you stifled a giggle.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” you started.

“It’s fine,” he said, cutting you off.

“With the window wide open though?” you teased. “Aren’t you worried you’ll get caught?”

He glared sardonically. “Guess you are now,” you mumbled. 

“You about done?” he asked, unamused.

“Sure, whatever,” you said, glancing dubiously out at the rain. “I’ll leave you to it, then.”

“Hold on,” he said, crossing the room in two long strides and blocking your path to the window. He leaned down, glowering into your space. “I think you’re forgetting something.”

“What’s that?” you asked, smirking provocatively.

“What you came for,” he said, his lips curling up in a grin as he pressed them into yours. He shoved you up against the wall and pushed his palm against the crotch of your jeans. You moaned, and he took the opening to slide his tongue past your teeth. He pulled back, and you panted for air. “Isn’t that right?” he asked. You nodded once, breathless, and his lips were on you again.

It was a short stumble to the narrow bed. You fell back onto it and watched the ceiling sway as Billy peeled off your layers of clothes. “Where were you drinking tonight?” he asked, conversationally, as he tossed your shirt over his shoulder and got started on your belt buckle. 

“School playground,” you answered, swiveling your hips to help get your jeans off. He chuckled.

“Sounds like a real party,” he said. He crawled up onto the bed with you, and unbuttoned the fly of his jeans. 

“Beats staying home and … beating,” you joked. He rolled on top of you and pinned your wrists. You giggled and squirmed.

“I’ll have you know I read the articles,” he said, grinding his hips so you could feel his erection through the thin, damp cotton of your panties. You giggled some more, and he let go of your wrists to reach beneath you and unclasp your bra.

“Sure,” you agreed sarcastically as he pulled the straps off your arms.

“I do,” he insisted. He trailed his tongue down your chest, pausing to suck on a nipple.

“That’s what everyone says,” you teased, voice breaking as he grazed you with his teeth.

“Maybe those guys are lying,” he said, hooking his thumbs under the sides of your panties and slipping them down your legs, “but I’m telling the truth.”

“Whatever you say,” you murmured, laughing. He shot you a look from between your legs.

“Where do you think I learned to do this?” he asked, smirking, and then he slid two fingers up inside you and curled them hard against your g-spot. You arched your back and saw fireflies swirling before your eyes, your laughter dying on your lips.

“I stand corrected,” you gasped, grunting as he pressed again, and again.

He grinned. “You’re not gonna stand for a week,” he said, and kicked off his jeans. 

Outside, the wind howled.


End file.
